


A Guy What Takes His Time

by Amymel86



Series: Jonsa S7 Summer Challenge [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jonsa Summer Challenge, Moulin Rouge AU, Sansa's stage name is Alayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 09:25:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11506482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: Jonsa Summer Challenge - Day 6 - FilmJon visits the Moulin Rouge.





	A Guy What Takes His Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myrish_lace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrish_lace/gifts), [vivilove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/gifts).



> For Myrish_lace and Vivilove for saving my bacon ;-)

“How exactly is it that you propose to become a successful author, writing about life without experiencing it first?” Theon had nudged Jon with his shoulder as they passed the gaudy looking building. All lit up, calling out to every manner of gentleman looking for some fun like moths on a summers night.

He had conceded with some curiosity as they paid their entry to the Moulin Rouge and found a partially vacant red velvet booth. 

“In for a treat tonight boys!” a rather round and ruddy-faced older gentleman hollered at them as he lifted his shot glass of ‘green fairy’ to his sweat tipped lips, letting his eyes fix upon the rear of the retreating sashay of the waitress. “Alayne is on tonight” he called over the din, apparently trying to initiate some form of masculine camaraderie over drink and women. “Seen her once before, had a little word with my man about getting a ‘backstage show’, if you know what I mean?” he laughed grotesquely with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows and an elbow dig into Jon’s rib.

“I’ll go hustle us some drinks” Theon shouted in his ear “have fun with your new friend” he grinned, indicating to the large man as another shot of Absinthe disappeared beneath his grey whiskers. Jon rolled his eyes.

Jon grimaced as his booth companion steadily grew more and more animated, his breath reeking of drink, his face becoming redder and covered in a sheen of sweat. The older man started to lean heavily on Jon as he continued in his salacious chatter, pointing out various sequin covered hostesses.

It wasn’t until the man had not made an obscene remark about the brunette beauty that threw a wink their way as she sauntered past with feathers in her hair, that Jon had realised the gentleman in question had fallen asleep whilst apparently using Jon to prop himself up. He shifted uneasily against the weight until he decided that there was nothing left for him to do other than slide over the booth’s seating, allowing for the drunkard to lay across it. Giving the stranger a glance that was met with a single sleepy snort, Jon furrowed his brow before scanning the establishment for any sign of Theon.

He should not have been surprised to see that instead of spotting his friend at the bar, fetching them something to drink as he had promised, he found him sat at a small table with not one, but two hostesses perched upon his lap. Jon shook his head as he watched Theon’s insufferably happy face turn from one girl to the other and he knows that he’s lost his friend for the night.

Quite suddenly, the lights dim and the tuning of instruments can be heard. Once everyone is ushered into silence, a single sensual voice starts up it’s siren’s call. Jon’s not sure where it’s coming from until a single spotlight illuminates a large hoop suspended from high above. Perched rather precariously, and yet utterly gracefully on said hoop is what Jon could only describe as a goddess divine. She is littered with glittering jewels and sequins that glint and shimmer under the theatre lights, but it’s her milk-white skin and long fire licked hair that Jon can’t seem to see past.

 _A guy what takes his time, I’ll go for any time_  
I’m a fast movin’ gal who likes them slow  
Got no use for fancy driving, wanna to see a guy arriving in low  
I’d be satisfied, electrified to know a guy what takes his time

As the angelic creature continued her sultry singing, captured within everyone’s attention, her hoop began to slowly descend until she was able to alight her perch and begin a slow, practised saunter across the stage. She’s a vision in her finery but Jon suspects she’s a delight without it too. There’s some sort of headress upon her head, with a jewel dangling between her brows, it shimmers in the light with her every move. Her corset is a blush coloured thing with bursts of sequins littered upon it, her matching undergarments marking the start of what must quite clearly be the longest legs in all of Paris.

 _A hurry-up affair, I always give the air_  
Wouldn’t give any rushing gent a smile  
I would go for any single who would condescend to linger awhile  
What a lullaby would be supplied to have a guy who takes his time, ooh

Jon’s mouth is somehow dry and yet flooded with saliva, forcing him to gulp lest he not drool all over himself then and there at his table while his booth companion continues to snore laid out on the seating. He licks his lips and rubs sweaty palms down his thighs as the rest of the world melts away and there is only her left. _Her_ \- she who could only have been created for one purpose - to be worshipped by all those hapless fools she ensnares. As he watches the redhead sing on, taking steady slow steps down from the stage, he thinks what a fool he must be to be so enraptured when not even one song has neared its completion from her lips.

 _A guy what takes his time, I’d go for any time_  
A hasty job really spoils a master’s touch  
I don’t like a big commotion, I’m a demon for slow motion or such  
Why should I deny that I would die to know a guy who takes his time

She glides more than walks amongst the tables, teasing and tempting the patrons by directing her singing to one or dancing her fingers across the shoulders of another.  Jon finds that he’s inexplicably jealous of everyone else in the room. It’s a travesty that he has to share this sight and those notes from those lips with anyone at all, let alone that her touch is being bestowed on other ‘gentlemen’ here, paying for some titillation. Just as Jon is trying desperately to temper his feelings, acknowledging the ridiculousness of it, the divine woman starts a slow and purposeful saunter directly towards him. His pulse quickens but his breathing seems to stop as she continues to sing to him, calling him out to a delicious death. She’s close, so close that Jon can see that her eyes are bluer than summer skies and that the curve of her lips is as suggestive as the words she sings from them. He’s sure that he looks a complete fool, gaping up at her as she slides a finger slowly down the side of his face and neck before seating herself in his lap with a smile. He almost feels the need to pinch himself as the scent of sweet lavender hits his nose, his face level and close to the creamy skin of her neck.

 _There isn’t any fun in getting something done_  
If you’re rushed when you have to make the grade  
I can spot an amateur, appreciate a connoisseur in trade  
Who would qualify, no alibi, to be the guy who takes his time

The round of a applause is deafening after the music ends but the goddess stays seated upon Jon’s knee as she smiles sweetly at her adoration before leaning in to his ear and whispering in a low sultry voice.

“Dear Petyr tells me you are to come to me later.”

“I…”

She shifts on his lap and strokes a hand down his chest. “I look forward to it” she purrs before placing a soft peck of a kiss on his cheek, rendering him curiously both frozen and ablaze. “Don’t leave me waiting for too long, Duke.”

Jon’s eyes don’t leave her retreating form until she’s slipped past a curtained doorway under a sign that read  _‘backstage’._ Her words puzzle in his mind before he’s roused from his musings by a single loud snore. Looking down at the slumbering older gentleman currently drooling all over the Moulin Rouge’s upholstery, a sudden knowing caused a wry smile to appear upon Jon’s lips.

“Sorry Duke” he says, rising from his seat “looks like you won’t be getting that backstage show after all.”  

**Author's Note:**

> Song lyrics and title from A Guy What Takes His Time by Mae West.


End file.
